The Lion of Justice (12 page)

“No. Please leave.” I wanted to add that I was about to leave, but I wasn’t going to let this thug scare me away.

Trankov sat across from me.

“I told you I don’t need company,” I said.

“Wait.” Trankov set his hand over mine. His touch felt disgusting. I had to remind myself that we were in a public place and I had nothing to worry about. My home was only a stone’s throw away. Of course Trankov would know where I was staying.

“They don’t serve tables here. Order at the bar,” I managed to tell him just as the waitress appeared to take his order.

“A Bloody Mary, please.” I had never seen a friendlier smile on Trankov’s face, and his eyes were glowing. When Trankov sold the lynx painting to Mrs. Voutilainen, he’d managed to charm her by pretending to be a good person. I knew what he was really about.

“And how about you, miss?” the waitress asked.

“Another hot chocolate. No rum this time. Add on some whipped cream please. This gentleman said he’s paying.” I smiled at Trankov.

Trankov had a quizzical look on his face; his Finnish skills probably weren’t up to this sort of conversation. A group of Japanese tourists were shuffling chairs around, pointing excitedly at a cruise ship slowly making its way on the sea. Ships were prisons where you couldn’t escape from your tormentors, and they could be easily blown to smithereens.

The waitress brought our drinks, and Trankov paid with his credit card. For a second I thought he could have arranged it all in advance, bribed a waitress to spike my hot chocolate with something unpleasant. He was capable of anything, and in this mazelike restaurant, it would have been easy to move about without me noticing. I had been staring out the window, thinking about David, not paying attention. I took a sip of my hot chocolate. I didn’t have to drink it, although the taste was the same, minus the bitterness of rum.

“What was that you taught me about Finnish traffic rules?” Trankov switched to English. Finnish sounded more natural for him. English consonants became thick and muddled in his mouth.

“It’s your turn to tell me why you’re in Finland. Who revoked your ban to enter the country?”

“How should I know?” Trankov shrugged. “I’m not accused of anything. I have a clean record and a permanent job at Usko Syrjänen’s company.”

“Which one of them?”

“The construction company. I’m an architect. Well, almost graduated.”

“An artistic man. I see. On your last Finland tour, you pretended to be a painter,” I reminded him.

“I didn’t pretend anything. I still paint. I’ve always painted. I just can’t make a living at it, and my dad . . . not everyone thinks it’s a real job,” Trankov said.

“How much does Paskevich’s opinion mean to you?”

Mentioning Paskevich made Trankov jump, and suddenly he looked like a little boy. I had never thought of asking how old he was, although the Bureau probably had it in their records.

“He means nothing to me. Paskevich is just a small-time crook, and if you hang out with him, you’ll end up in jail.” Trankov spread his arms and shook his head. “Syrjänen is totally different. I can do great things with him, and he’s in need of good Russian relations now that all his former business partners are kaput.”

“And you can provide such relations?” I gulped down half of my cocoa.

“I know the right people. Syrjänen trusts me,” Trankov said with pride in his voice. It sounded like no one had bothered to fill Syrjänen in on Trankov’s background. A businessman of that caliber didn’t research his business partners? First Vasiliev, now Trankov. Or perhaps Syrjänen cared about the source of his money as much as the politicians he bribed.

“It’s important to know the people you’re dealing with in Russia. Syrjänen has a lot to learn in that aspect. Why do you work at a restaurant? Nobody wants to give you a job in your field?”

“And what do you suppose my field is?”

“You’re a bodyguard—ready for other jobs, too, if the situation calls for it. And you’re not all that bad at it. Syrjänen could use you once Julia comes to Finland.”

I chuckled. I was not clamoring to work for Syrjänen, although I was interested in his operations: the papers I’d found in David’s drawers; the Hiidenniemi project Anita Nuutinen had been after, too; and Trankov, who claimed he knew things David had been hiding from me. Was that what this was leading to? David, David, and David? I wouldn’t find peace until I found out what had happened to him.

I’d accepted my fate after
I Believe
blew up, especially when I didn’t hear from David for months. The most likely scenario had been that David had died, and with tears in my eyes, I had accepted that David had trusted me enough to share what he was going to do. Now I was hurt, disappointed, and hungry for more information. Trankov wanted revenge because of how I’d humiliated him at Bromarf, and he better prepare for an encore.

“I’m fine with my current job, thank you. What sort of plans does Syrjänen’s construction company have? The papers haven’t been writing about his recent projects,” I said.

Trankov lifted his glass to his pursed lips and sucked in a seductive way, and it looked ridiculous.

“He trusts me. I’m not telling you. You know how construction is. First you need permits.”

“So you’re planning buildings for him?” I asked.

“More like . . .” Trankov was searching for the right word, then found it in Finnish. “A city plan. The way houses are built in relation to others. And interiors. I paint directly onto walls. I illustrate entire rooms.” Trankov seemed less dangerous by the word, and I knew I could manipulate him again. “Syrjänen holds a grudge against Stahl about that boat explosion,” Trankov said.

I tried to keep my hand steady as I set my mug down. Syrjänen wasn’t supposed to know that. He and the media had been presented with a story about
I Believe
exploding as an unfortunate accident. Or was Trankov just testing me? Even if he was, how did he know about Stahl? This was information meant only for the inner circles. All of us had vowed confidentiality. Maybe Syrjänen was such good buddies with the ministers that vows and Europol agent lives didn’t matter.

“First Stahl slithered his way to Paskevich’s camp, then moved over to work for Vasiliev. I suppose he’s alone now.”

“Who says he’s alive?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I knew I was failing. I had to find out how recent Trankov’s information was and how I could make him talk. Would the same methods that worked on his dad work on him? Was he a slave to his desires, too? And would the same bag of tricks work, or was he prepared for them? I had to make myself sound dumber than I was. I’d been really good at it since childhood. Showing your hand didn’t always play to your advantage. Trankov wanted to look down on me, humiliate me. If that was the price I had to pay for finding out the truth, then so be it.

I got up and put my jacket on. Trankov grabbed my wrist extremely tightly.

“You know what I want from you, Hilja? I want to paint you. I have a studio over at Syrjänen’s house in Långvik. Be my model. I already know what I’ll paint,” Trankov said.

Mike Virtue was shouting in my head, joined by Uncle Jari.
Don’t be foolish! Say no!
I ignored the voices as I set my free hand on Trankov’s hand and said, “Sounds good to me. Give me your number, and we’ll be in touch.”

12

Trankov’s business card was impressive. It had Syrjänen’s logo and an official-sounding title: “architectural project manager and painter.”

“I’m an honest man these days. I have no reason to hide anything,” he tried to convince me as we departed. He kissed me on both cheeks, and I washed my face as soon as I was in the apartment.

Petter had come over after the movie for a nightcap; the siblings were having red wine. I settled for a glass of water. I felt like an outsider as they talked. I had nobody to share my childhood memories with, nobody who would get what I meant from hearing part of a sentence. Monika thought the movie was intense, and Petter had enjoyed the colors. It sounded like I would have slept through it. Petter nagged me again about modeling for him, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had promised to model for someone else.

I arranged a meeting with Laitio for Friday because he was spending the first half of the week at some completely useless training event at the police academy in Hervanta. I wanted to chat with him before I met Trankov. I would go to Urheilu Street on an afternoon when Sans Nom was usually slower. We didn’t take reservations during lunch, and there was always a line of customers; dinners were usually fully booked. A couple of restaurant critics had already reviewed Sans Nom in their respective magazines. They considered it a four-star restaurant, but the concept was still baffling to them. Nobody dared criticize the soup kitchen concept, though. The first run had been a success; in addition to the homeless and poor people from the nearby areas, all sorts of hippies and businesswomen had come to show how tolerant they were by breaking bread with the unfortunate citizens, although the groups never mingled during lunch.

I rang Laitio’s buzzer on Friday, but nobody came to the door, so I called him.

“Laitio.” He sounded out of breath.

“It’s Ilveskero. We were supposed to meet.”

“I know, but damned Kokki slipped into the hallway, and I don’t know if he went up or down.”

“Open the door, and I’ll help you find him,” I offered.

“Just keep an eye on the door so that damned tom doesn’t run into the street. Catch him even if he tries to scratch your eyes out.”

I told Laitio I had no experience with cats. He knew nothing about Frida. I didn’t see anything behind the door. I looked into the baby stroller that had been left in the hallway—that would be a prime spot for a cat to hide—but the stroller was empty. I slowly walked upstairs. Frida had loved surprising us by jumping off a tree branch and wrestling with us upon landing. I got up to the third floor and saw Laitio’s cat crouched in the corner, puffed up, his tail raised. When he saw me he gave a vicious hiss.

“He’s here,” I yelled down the hallway. I could hear Laitio stomping around a couple of floors above. The cat didn’t look like he’d let a stranger hold him, so I moved toward him slowly while avoiding eye contact. He made a nasty growling sound when I was close enough to touch him, his tail now thick as a fur collar. Laitio circled him on the other side.

“Come on, Kokki.” I’d never heard Laitio speak in such a gentle tone. It was much higher than his usual voice. “Come now.” Laitio crouched down and attempted to pick Kokki up. The cat hissed.

“Here. Wrap the cat in it.” I took off my jacket and threw it to Laitio. When Frida was a cub and had a splinter in her paw, it was hard to hold her down. Uncle Jari had wrapped her in a thick quilt and held her down while I removed the splinter with tweezers.

“He’ll destroy this.” He took off his familiar mustard-yellow cardigan. His shirt underneath was missing two lower buttons, and the gap showed his round, hairy belly. When Laitio crouched down again, the cat hissed and swiped at him. Laitio barely avoided the claws.

It looked like he was afraid of the cat. I yanked the cardigan from Laitio and moved as quickly as I could. I wrapped the cat in the jacket, and he hissed and struggled. He was large for a cat, though much smaller than Frida had ever been. I still had to use all my strength to hold the cat tightly for the two floors I had to climb. Laitio ran ahead of me to open the door. I threw the cat into the apartment, and Laitio closed the door at lightning speed. Laitio wiped sweat from his face. It had trickled all the way down to his mustache.

“The mailman delivered a registered letter, and I was careless when I was signing it. That’s how Kokki managed to sneak out. And guess who the letter was from?” Laitio asked. “A written reprimand from the assistant police chief at the Bureau. If I’m not back at the headquarters full time by the beginning of next month, they’ll fire me.”

I knew it was futile to suggest that Laitio just enjoy his cigars during coffee and lunch breaks. This was obviously about much more than cigar smoke. We walked into Laitio’s office, and I accepted the cigar he offered. I let him cut the end off. The snap made a cruel smile spread across his face. The commotion next door indicated that Kokki was up to no good again. Laitio tried to cover his hairy belly with his shirt, then he sat down behind his desk to hide his midriff.

“How would you like some information to torment Rytkönen?” I asked after my first puff.

“Like what?”

“It’s a long story, and you won’t like some of it, but try not to interrupt, okay?” As I began my story from the real beginning—when I had found David’s phone in Carlo Dolfini’s pocket—I had to look away from Laitio’s reddening face and stare at the table. He listened, huffed, puffed, lit his cigar again, and took long drags. I told him about the hutch, the Kopparnäs papers, and the kaleidoscope. I finished with Rytkönen answering the phone as Kassi. When I was done, I didn’t look at Laitio; I just gazed out the window and hid myself in a cloud of smoke. I wished I had long, thick hair like my middle school friend Taru. In a sticky situation she’d hide herself behind her hair. Laitio didn’t speak for a while, just snorted. When I finally dared to look at him, I was surprised to see that he was pitying me.

“Don’t make yourself a fool, Ilveskero. I’ve seen enough possessive people like you. They don’t know how to give up even when they know there’s no hope, even when ten doors have been slammed in their faces and they’ve been issued a restraining order. The type of possessiveness you carry around is the worst kind. You better knock it off. Or did you think, like your mother thought, that love will cure a killer? Didn’t you read those reports I gave you, or are you just too stupid to understand what they mean? Forget about Stahl,” Laitio said.

“But why are David and Rytkönen connected? Or is Rytkönen overseeing Stahl in some way? Do they know each other?”

“I can find out, but not because of you. I’ll do it because Rytkönen and I are at war, and I welcome anything I can use against him. What did Stahl tell you about the night he blew up the ship?”

“Nothing, really. He never wanted to go back to it, saying the memory of killing four people was too much for him. They were crooks, but they were still human.”

“And you of course believed Stahl was a gentle killer?”

I didn’t respond. I’d only seen what I’d wanted to, a man in love with me who had risen from the dead and called me to him. Now I remembered how he’d evaded my questions in Spain, Germany, and Tuscany. I was curious to know what killing felt like. Maybe David could have told me what my father was thinking, but he wouldn’t talk. His face had gone cold, and he’d looked away. I always thought he was just ashamed of what he’d done, and I’d loved him even more. Now it looked like he hadn’t told me because he didn’t want to reveal what he really was. He was just following orders. David the rogue,
Finnjävel
, the Finnish devil. The man who didn’t trust anyone. And I’d assumed we were soul mates.

Laitio got up to open the window. He shivered. I could see leaves being ripped off branches in the cold breeze, and I heard the distant screeching of an ambulance siren.

“You could show me those treasures you found among Stahl’s stash sometime,” Laitio said. “I have to say I’m amazed you’re not in jail. You’re screwing around with this stuff so carelessly. And you’re not going to see Trankov. I’ve told you he’s dangerous. Do you know anything about him? His mother, Olga Trankova, was a whore for the KGB. Sorry, there’s no nice way to put it, although I doubt she voluntarily chose that line of work. In the early eighties, she was Paskevich’s main woman. Olga became pregnant and didn’t get an abortion, although she was told to, so Paskevich sent her to Siberia to give birth. Obviously he was married at the time, like all proper communists were. When the joys of capitalism reached the Soviets, it was easy to get rid of his wife. She was run over by a car in Moscow, clearly a calculated hit.”

I remembered Anita mentioning that Paskevich was a widower.

“Since he was a little kid, Yuri proved to be very talented, mostly in painting, cheating, and stealing. A couple of years in a Siberian foster home made him even more ambitious. He looked up the man his mother had claimed was his father and tried hard to become his favorite boy. I guess he was successful when he ended up staying with Paskevich in Moscow and went to architecture school. He probably believed his father’s construction business needed architects and quit school when his father was called away to handle other types of business. You showed Yuri’s father that the kid amounted to nothing. Do you think he won’t take it out on you?” Laitio closed the window, and another button on his shirt fell off, revealing even more of his belly.

I picked up the button and gave it to Laitio. “It’s not hard to sew these back on. I can do it,” I told him. He just humphed at me and shoved the button into his pocket.

“I’m a goner, Ilveskero,” he said, “and I mean my career. But maybe it’s for the best. I can run my own investigation without worrying about getting fired. I’ll get in touch with a couple of the tamer journalists. My bosses are afraid of publicity. Once you’re considered a crook in this country, it’s hard to make people believe otherwise. You stay put in that restaurant and let me take care of this. And forget about Stahl and Trankov. That Swede was a nice man—what was his name again?”

“Petter?”

“Yes, that’s right. I hear he likes you a lot.”

“Laitio, stay out of my love life. I can take care of it myself.”

“By the looks of it, all you do is make a bigger mess of it.”

I walked out. I didn’t need to stick around for insults. I went to Yrjö Street to get rid of the cigar smell with a change of clothes. At the apartment I found a notice from the post office that I had a package to pick up. I grabbed Trankov’s business card and my towel. I’m not a big fan of swimming, but the Yrjö Street swimming pool was one of the best I’d ever been to. I’d arranged to meet Mrs. Voutilainen there. She was a regular. She’d been going there since the 1940s. We reserved a relaxation room on the second floor and ordered some nonalcoholic mead. Mrs. Voutilainen brought apple pie. We didn’t wear swimsuits; I had always hated them.

“The wrong sort of nudity is constantly pushed on us. The young and beautiful flashing a bit of skin. We were all born without clothes, but nowadays you’re supposed to hide all the wrinkles and fat rolls. As if people are covered by some sort of a spiritual burka, and only perfectly beautiful people are allowed to show themselves. This pool has been one of the few remaining sanctuaries for us women with saggy tits. Here we are equally beautiful or equally ugly,” Mrs. Voutilainen ranted when she’d taken me to the pool for the first time.

I wondered what ten-year-old Hilja who’d grown up in the countryside of Hevonpersiinsaari would have thought of the place. The atmosphere was straight out of an ancient Greek story. The columns, vaulted ceilings, and delicious treats would have left me speechless. Heck, even now I was in awe. Mike Virtue would have been terrified to see this place; rumor had it that he didn’t take his Kevlar vest off even when he went swimming.

Mrs. Voutilainen’s breasts were small, empty bags lined with stretch marks, as were her inner thighs and calves. Her legs had multiple scars from surgeries attempting to fix her varicose veins, and her belly displayed a deep scar from a cesarean in the 1950s. As we sat in the sauna, a woman in her twenties covered in tattoos sat next to Mrs. Voutilainen, and she began grilling the girl about her tattoos. Most of them were different kinds of cats, and her right shoulder displayed a familiar tuft-eared sight.

When we were done swimming, we ate our refreshments, and I told Mrs. Voutilainen how I’d met the man who’d sold her the lynx painting and that Trankov had made an appearance at Sans Nom’s grand opening. I said I recognized him by his name and from a sketch Mrs. Voutilainen had made.

“He’s doing well. He’s moved on from being a garbage collector. His background is actually in architecture, and now he’s working for Usko Syrjänen’s construction company. Look at his fancy business card.” I showed Mrs. Voutilainen.

I knew I needed someone to rely on if I had plans of seeing Trankov. Mrs. Voutilainen would be perfect, as soon as I figured out how to use her. She’d recognize the man and could sketch him for the police if needed, and a man who vowed to have gone straight wouldn’t hurt a woman in her seventies, even if he wanted to hurt me.

“Well, that’s nice to hear. How about you? Any men in your life? When you took off to Italy in the spring, I was expecting to hear wedding bells.”

I forced a smile. I had hoped the same.

“Things didn’t really go as planned, and that man is a bit . . . well, not the marrying type. And I’m in no hurry to get married. My life is great as it is.”